#safetyisms

Daryl was used to having to make excuses for Merle’s behavior,  but he was getting a bit tired of it.  He didn’t like the way that Merle had spoken to Andrea before he stormed off into the woods.  And he could tell that Andrea was more than  mildly  annoyed.

❝He doesn’t mean half the shit he says.  Merle just  talks.❞

Since the Dixons had arrived at the camp,  it was becoming increasingly more obvious that no one liked them very much.  Merle was getting bored,  trying to start shit.  And as usual,  Daryl was trying to clean up the mess.

liked this post for a starter

GONNA GET LUCILLE’D.

     he’s unsure of how much time has PASSED since the bullet had torn through his skin. it hadn’t been a TERRIBLE wound ( painful, nonetheless ), through and through and easy to patch up. it had taken a long while for andrea to even BEGIN to trust him, and when she had, they were GOOD together, like a team. but idealistic dreams were too easily shattered in this world. pounding feet and ragged breaths reminiscent of their first meeting saw their last drawing to a DEADLY close. somehow the saviors had found them, a group on a scouting mission. andrea had taken one and griffin two, but it wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t outrun their maker.     he sprints behind her, arm beginning to throb as lactic acid found harbor, leaking into his not yet COMPLETELY ( close but not quite there ) healed bullet wound. words of encouragement burst from his lips along with carbon dioxide as he fights with his lungs. a bullet EMBEDS itself in the tree next to him as griffin passes it. his head turns, gaze frantically searching for the shooter when it’s ripped back in front of him as andrea SCREAMS in surprise. sliding to a haphazard stop, griffin takes AIM immediately at the man holding andrea hostage.    ❝ let. her. go. ❞    his stance steadies, eyes locked with andrea’s. the man tightens his hold on the blonde, and memories flash through griffin’s head -- her smile and her laugh that he’d managed to pull out of her after nearly a MONTH. his own grip on the pistol turns his knuckles white.     ❝ I’M the one you want. ❞                    “ see, i’m tryin’ to figure which is gonna hurt WORSE. ”     the new voice sends a chill down griffin’s SPINE. he KNOWS what it means, WHO it is. negan. griffin’s gaze flicks to the infamous man, though his gun remains aimed on the other holding andrea. unadulterated anger sweeps across his face, twisting his lips into a nasty SNARL. his finger lifts an inch of the trigger, tongue wetting his lips as his jaw tenses. brown eyes drifting back to andrea, it’s clear what she’s trying to SAY -- kill him, take the chance while he HAS it. but he CAN’T. he shakes his head almost imperceptibly; he’s got to get her OUT OF TROUBLE before he takes down negan. if he shoots, the man will SNAP HER NECK. his lips move silently, i’m sorry.         with a chuckle, negan raises his bat, looking between the two.      “ oh, i think i know which it’s gonna be. ”     the other’s voice jerks griffin back into focus, and his eyes widen with a large intake of a breath.     ❝ DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE -- !! ❞    the man holding andrea shoves her violently to the ground, and griffin’s finger squeezes the trigger without thought, sending a bullet straight through his HEAD. an instant later, another bullet buries in lucille’s wood only because someone TACKLED griffin to the ground. he hears andrea scrambling to retaliate, and griffin renders the savior above him unconscious without issue, adrenaline fueling a WILDFIRE. the skirmish only lasts a SECOND before negan’s voice effectively stops all motion, leaving griffin helpless despite his aim set on negan.     his body stills with horror, heart’s frantic beat FROZEN in fear. negan standing offset to andrea, who’s on her knees, eyes wild as they bore into griffin’s. it’s only but a moment to take in before negan BURIES lucille’s barbs into the side of andrea’s head.    ❝ ANDREA!! ❞    the shout is loud, echoing violently off the trees, leaving the air soaked in GRIEF.                         he didn’t try hard enough.

        two things daryl had learnt since alexandria had fenced them in: the first, that it’d not hold out much longer and the second, that his plan to smoke until his lips hurt had grown old fast. and he’d been left with a stale taste in his mouth that wasn’t half as satisfying as he’d thought it to be, spat into the garden... his garden. pfft. there was hardly time spent behind the proverbial white picket fence nowadays despite the chance to. instead, daryl had found refuge elsewhere -- in woods he’d grown accustomed to or... here. at andrea’s doorstep, pressing three hard knocks into the wood like he was testing to see if it’d break had he hit harder. his excuse later would be that he wasn’t sure she was awake. lame, but better than nothing. not that it mattered; she’d be awake like she always was -- same time, same place.

                         a routine, though he’d never say it out aloud.                              some things were best left unsaid anyway.

               only... her absence at the door left him with a heavy feeling in his chest. he didn’t mind going on the run alone -- in fact he would have PREFERRED it not long ago -- but things had changed. and the tightening of his jaw said everything he wouldn’t.

                                          ‘    andrea.     ’

       ‘ andrea?? ‘ though her voice sounds on a tentative note, on her point, she will not relent. thankful as beth may be that she didn’t shut the door on the world, andrea’s understanding ; she holds it dear all the same.

       ‘ -- andrea... i realised, i never said thank you. for your understandin’ ; back when i wanted it all gone. i mean -- i’m glad i didn’ an’ all -- but i’m thankful. you understood, when nobody else did. ‘